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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28447704">hard to breathe (you're everywhere)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnshuaa/pseuds/johnshuaa'>johnshuaa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Childhood Friends, Fluff, M/M, Royalty, Schizophrenia, Slow Dancing, Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:07:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28447704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnshuaa/pseuds/johnshuaa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He needs Kun, always had, always will. Kun is the gravity that keeps Taeyong from floating away into his cloud palace when he is needed here, on the solid ground of the devastating Earth. As cold and cruel as this place is, he has a duty to stay.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Taeyong/Qian Kun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>#KunFanWeek2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hard to breathe (you're everywhere)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>spare some kunyong? please?</p><p>anyways, I've been trying to write kunyong for forever because they are literally my favorite- they are just such soft, subtle lovers (or like enemy mafia leaders there's kinda no in between lol). but here it is! enjoy &lt;3</p><p>very mild blood/injury warning, but it's only briefly mentioned [in one line].</p><p>title from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsh3poKXqu8">everywhere</a> by niall horan</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Taeyong presses his bare feet into the lush green grass, the blades speckled with morning dew. It is a familiar feeling that he is quite fond of, the stark cold against his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He digs his feet further into the dirt and grass to push himself up. His hands tighten around the metal chain on either side of him, before he tucks his knees under him, lifting his feet from the ground. He swings forward, feeling the rush of a slight breeze against his face. He oscillates back, and in the moment before he swings forward again, there is a momentary weightlessness that makes his stomach turn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t visited this place for the longest time. Taeyong has always loved the gardens, but since they tore down the playground, he didn’t have the heart to stroll through as thoroughly as he used to. But now, on one of the pair of swings, the set creaking from lack of use, he wishes he had come back more often.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets the momentum carry him back and forth, his legs dangling under him, but he’s grown too tall for the swing. His feet hit the floor, slowing him down when he’s at the lowest point. He tries his best to tuck his legs under the seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like for me to push you, my love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s quite alright,” Taeyong responds, slightly out of breath. He smiles to himself. He hasn’t heard that voice in so long, almost shocked that it’s the exact same tone and shape after all this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kun takes a seat on the swing next to Taeyong, facing the opposite way. He doesn’t kick off. Instead, he sits, watching Taeyong sway back and forth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weather is nice, perfect for a picnic in the gardens, or some afternoon tea under the gazebo. Taeyong is sure his mother is with her ladies-in-waiting, discussing frivolous things over some finger sandwiches and tea. He would rather not bypass them during his garden wandering today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Taeyong lets the momentum slow until his swing comes to a stop. He immediately misses the way the wind feels against his skin. However, when he plants his feet into the ground, the thin blades brushing against the smooth skin delights him again. He turns to look at Kun fully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kun looks the same as last time, albeit a bit paler, but that might be a trick of the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t visited in so long, Kunnie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kun lets out a small sigh, then reaches over to hold both of Taeyong’s hands, one in each of his own palms. He runs his thumbs over the back of Taeyong’s hands, featherlight and cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, my love.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Taeyong hears them, the quiet murmurs that aren’t quiet enough. The nobles do not know of modesty. They will whisper behind their lace fans and gloved palms with the loudest of voices. They are too much to bear, sometimes. He likes the comfortable silence that Kun’s presence provides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to get out of here,” Taeyong whispers. “They’re coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kun looks up past Taeyong’s shoulder. Taeyong can practically imagine the ladies-in-waiting scurrying after his mother, holding a parasol for her, making sure her large skirt does not get caught in stray stems of the rose bushes. They are talking again. If they see Taeyong, then they will not stop talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go inside,” Kun suggests, standing, his hands pulling away from Taeyong, and although they are cold, Taeyong misses the feeling. However, just as quickly, he extends an arm to Taeyong again, which he takes gladly. He interlaces their hands together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before they leave the gardens, Taeyong takes one long look at the swingset, the chains slowing to a standstill, hanging limply. He stares at the wood varnish, how this is the only part of his childhood that remains in such wonderful condition. If he closes his eyes, he’s sure he can imagine the other playsets that surrounded the swings at one point in his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And his eyes skim over the golden plate nailed into the wood, etched with tiny wording that he has long memorized, words so close to his heart that he feels that they are tattooed into the skin of his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets Kun pull him towards the castle.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should go horseback riding,” Taeyong says excitedly. “The horses miss you very much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure they do,” Kun hums, noncommittal. He doesn’t look back at Taeyong, continuing to pull him through the never-ending halls of the castle. The large, gold-framed windows to their right let in the afternoon sun, a pale, shimmery yellow reflecting against the marble floors. It somehow makes Kun look even paler, though Taeyong remembers that the reason why their favorite place has always been the gardens is because being outside made Kun sparkle with life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious, Kunnie.” Taeyong stops abruptly, and Kun’s hand slips out of his. He immediately reaches to grasp it, tight. He can’t let go. Kun doesn’t come around often enough for him to afford any time not holding onto him. “Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kun takes a short breath before grasping both of Taeyong’s hands, bringing them to his heart. “Your mother and her guests are still out right now, Yong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if we don’t go now, you won’t get to go at all…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to be safe. That’s of most importance to me. The horses can see me another day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Taeyong’s mind suddenly flits to the visitors just a few stories away, a few staircases and doorways apart from him. “Oh, yes. The guests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks out of the nearest window. He can see the array of carriages parked along the curve of the paved road. Yes, the guests. He almost forgot, if not for Kun. Kun’s always been better with royal schedules and whatnot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where else would you like to take me?” Kun says softly, coaxing Taeyong’s focus back to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong takes a moment to think, before he pipes up, “The ballroom!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grasps tighter onto Kun’s hand and pulls him around the corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong can just about imagine the grand balls his family used to hold here. The dainty satin gowns, the glimmering gold on every surface—on the men’s jackets, on the ladies’ ears and necks—the glow of the hundreds of thousands of meticulously lit candles. He can imagine the throne at the end of the ballroom, set on a platform, overlooking the large room proudly. He can hear the live orchestral music, bustling with energy like the guests are, dancing and prancing and having the time of their lives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong can almost envision it all. If he so pleases, he may be able to reach out and take the hand of Cousin Joohyun, who had just married the previous year and moved across the country, and waltz around with her until they’re both too dizzy to walk properly. Oh, how he misses those celebrations. He wonders why his mother stopped planning them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they enter the grand entrance, Kun is leading the way, a few steps ahead. He looks around at the empty ballroom, the chandeliers pulled up and away from the marble floor, the cloths draped over antique couches and lamps. The piano in the corner, where the orchestra would usually be set up, is pushed against the wall, its dark mahogany legs peeking out underneath the dusty tarp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kun gasps quietly. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mother doesn’t like to hold any parties these days,” Taeyong pouts. “Father decided it was for the best to put everything away until we really need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong blinks a few times, mouth slightly agape, watching Kun’s eyebrows knit in concern before he mumbles, “I don’t remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Realization wanes on Kun’s pale face. He covers it by running a gentle hand down the side of Taeyong’s face, cupping his cheek, and giving a gentle pat. “Don't worry, Yong, it’s no problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong sighs in the silence. It echoes across the expanse of the empty room. There are only windows along one wall, as the ballroom is along the north wing of the castle. Thus, there is hardly any light in the afternoon, only long rectangular shadows in stripes across the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, do you hear the music?” Taeyong giggles as he hears the light tinkling of fingers against ivories, producing barely-there notes. They grow louder, and then the strings join, the percussion, the wind instruments. “It’s our song, Kunnie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On cue, Kun steps back slightly, only to bow at the hips, offering a hand forward. “May I have this dance, your Majesty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like the old days. Taeyong laughs as his hands fall into Kun’s, and he immediately pulls the two of them together, chest to chest. “Of course, my Prince,” Taeyong responds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In practiced manner, Kun guides them towards the center of the ballroom in a few sweeping steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a dance that they have practiced hundreds of times, from when they were quite little and were first placed in ballroom lessons together. Back then, Taeyong had been partnered with Cousin Sooyoung (who, despite being a year younger, was far taller than him back then) while Kun danced with his sister, Handong. They had learned the basic steps to some of the traditional waltzes during those lessons, and afterward, when Sooyoung and Handong left for their next lessons, Kun and Taeyong stayed behind in the ballroom, putting together bits and pieces of the movements they learned to create their own dance. As they grew up, the choreography was refined, melded with music, and became theirs, solely theirs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The music picks up to the more vibrant section, and Taeyong laughs as Kun dips and spins him. They skip and gallop across the ballroom, Kun’s arm around Taeyong’s waist ever-present and comforting. He will never get used to the pleasant tingles that come with having Kun hold him so close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were supposed to dance to this at our wedding,” Taeyong says when the piece slows to a more solemn segment, where they had choreographed a slow box step to catch their breaths leading up to the final act. He leans his head on Kun’s shoulder, forehead pressed to the crook of his neck. If he focuses, he can almost hear the beating of Kun’s heart, slow and steady. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes, we don’t get everything we want, my love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand…” Taeyong takes a deep breath to try and memorize Kun’s sweet rose scent. “I just wish, to every god there is, that we could have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kun rubs gentle circles into Taeyong’s waist. “I do, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The music becomes a quiet trickle in the back of Taeyong’s mind, and instead of finishing the dance with a grand bow as they usually do, their favorite part as children, Taeyong holds onto Kun as tight as possible, and they sway side to side, Taeyong in Kun’s embrace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tranquility of the ballroom is disrupted, however, when the ceiling-high doors crack open with a booming creak. Taeyong jolts from Kun’s arms, eyes wide with paralyzing surprise. Kun seems to flicker with the light that suddenly fills the ballroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your Highness,” the butler says from the barely open door. “Your mother is requesting your presence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong freezes. “My mother? What for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She would like for you to meet with her esteemed guests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Taeyong blinks, looking down at the patterned marble floors. They used to be so vibrant, now scuffed down and cracked, in some places. “She truly wants me there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler seems to fidget under the prince’s questioning. “Yes, that is her Majesty’s request.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong makes a worried noise in the back of his throat, low, and his breaths grow rapid. “No, no. She mustn't want me. She never wants me near her guests.”</span>
</p><p><span>“She specifically requested that you must meet them, your Highness—”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Not me, no.” Taeyong’s vision blurs, and he tries to look down at his hands to ground himself. Are the flickering in and out, or is he imagining they are? “I can’t.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Your Highness…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling, look at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong’s chin is lifted by steady fingers, and Kun’s grounding force, his gravitational pull brings Taeyong back to earth. Taeyong looks into his eyes, rich and coppery and overflowing with love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go meet her. I’ll be here the whole time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But last time you disappeared—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll hold on. I’ll be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Taeyong breathes. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The disapproval is evident in Taeyong’s mother’s face when she notices that he’s barefoot, pants rolled halfway up his shin. He looks like a boy who had just gone playing in the river, is what she used to describe Kun and Taeyong in their early teenage years. But back then, she hadn’t looked at them with narrowed eyes and upturned chin, and rather, with fondness. Taeyong can pinpoint the exact moment her view shifted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would have expected for you to clean yourself up before meeting with us,” she says coldly. “Please, dress properly before we meet the others.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong nods obediently, spinning on his heels and sprinting to get to his quarters. Luckily enough, his mother had moved her party inside the castle, rather than out in the gardens, where it would take Taeyong far too much time to get to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong changes into a more formal pair of slacks, tucking his blouse into his waistband. He sits on the ottoman at the base of his bed, pulling on socks, his finer leather shoes laying next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me help,” Kun says, kneeling next to Taeyongs’s legs. He slips the shoe onto Taeyong’s foot, then proceeds to lace them up. One, then two. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I presentable?” Taeyong says warily. Even after critiquing every part of himself in the mirror, he still wouldn’t be up to his mother’s standards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kun licks his thumb to smooth down one of Taeyong’s eyebrows. “There. All better. You look dashing, Taeyong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s enough reassurance for Taeyong to head back to where his mother is, in the parlor. Kun is never far behind, though not holding onto Taeyong’s hand as he would prefer. It is precautionary, in case Taeyong becomes too reliant on him and makes a scene. They must strike a balance between their distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong plays his role as the firstborn prince, standing straight and pasting on a polite smile. In the parlor, sitting in their fancy dresses and suits with the castle’s best porcelain teacups in their hands, are his mother’s visitors for the day. Some duchesses from far off kingdoms, some prestigious diplomats, all high-profile guests that Taeyong almost forgets immediately if not for the historical readings he’s memorized all his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We look forward to the union, you Highness,” one of the ladies say. Duchess Taeyeon, Taeyong recalls, a close friend of his mother’s. “The celebration will be one to remember for the decade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chorus of agreements arises around the room. Taeyong smiles, a little bitterly to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, we have been planning this event for many years now. He is the Crown Prince, after all,” his mother states. “We have brought together the best of the best from all across the country.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Duchess Taeyeon smiles curtly and flutters her lace fan over her lips. “This alliance will surely strengthen our military…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The talk returns to politics that Taeyong decides to tune out. He has been kept out of the loop about this kind of information for a while now, since his parents altered his role in court. There was no need for him to keep up with anything but the basics, and like a pristine Crown Jewel, the classified information is locked away in the highest glass cage that Taeyong can see but not reach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for joining us today, Crown Prince,” Taeyong’s mother dismisses. With her hands held in front of her extravagant emerald dress, she bows. He is excused. She is satisfied with today’s performance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong bows back, before spinning and heading out of the parlor. He thinks that as soon as he passes the archway into the main hall, the guests are whispering incoherents again. Not that he isn’t used to that already. They are always watching, always whispering, always judging. Especially Taeyong, of all the members of the royal family. Most do not know what provoked his engagement to the prince of the neighboring kingdom that would ultimately deem him unable to truly rule his own family’s land as his birthright would state.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did wonderfully, my love,” Kun says, and finally, he slips his hand with Taeyong’s, an instant comfort in the cold of the hall. No longer does Taeyong have to worry about the whispers of those who mean so little to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing showed through?” Taeyong asks incredulously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hardly. Don’t worry so much about it, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t help it.” Taeyong smiles sheepishly. “You know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kun stops in front of Taeyong. “Trust yourself some more. You must regain your independence again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I try, I truly do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I can tell.” Despite his insistence, Kun brings Taeyong’s hand to his lips and places a featherlight kiss on his knuckles. “Now, we must learn to do so without my presence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong freezes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he wants to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, I refuse</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs Kun, always has, always will. Kun is the gravity that keeps Taeyong from floating away into his cloud palace when he is needed here, on the solid ground of the devastating Earth. As cold and cruel as this place is, he has a duty to stay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs Kun, no matter what he says. He’s the only one capable of keeping Taeyong’s feet planted when he feels like the universe is lifting him by the middle to fling into the unknown of space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to,” Taeyong says quietly. “You promised me you would be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t be here forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong looks at where Kun had kissed his hand, the ghost of his lips brushing over the bone, right where the thin silver band lies, worn away and no longer shining like Taeyong remembers. “You promised, Kun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kun looks forlorn, blonde hair looking whiter than before. His eyes are hollow. He drops Taeyong’s hand. “Let’s go somewhere more private, your Majesty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong is reserved and quiet. That is how he was trained to be. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t present what’s brewing in his chest, and he most certainly doesn’t wield emotion as his sword. But he wants to lash out at Kun, yell at him that as the Crown Prince, Kun is commanded to remain by his side and not cowardly sink away into the back of Taeyong’s memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to, but he doesn’t, and even though he feels a burning sensation travel through his body, he lets Kun pull him through the maze that is the palace. Eventually, they return to Taeyong’s room again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kun sits Taeyong down at his bed, before distancing them. He stands with his back against the ornate double doors, hands folded behind him. He protects the entrance, protects Taeyong from the rest of the world. Taeyong remembers their linked pinkies in the gardens when Kun had said he would give everything to keep Taeyong safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t keep doing this, Taeyong.” Kun’s voice is too quiet and broken, nothing like the prince that had grown up alongside Taeyong, betrothed to him since birth, practically. Weakness is not an option for a prince. “You’re marrying soon. You’ll help lead a kingdom soon. I won’t be here forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong feels like his blood is simmering on the verge of boiling. He doesn’t do well with anger. Kun has always kept him mellow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand why you can’t. You’ve stayed for years already—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not good for your well-being.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re losing respect in your kingdom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong’s vision is spotted with red. Kun wavers in and out like the effects of ripples. “Don’t you think I already know that?” he spits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kun closes his eyes and sighs, pained. “You have a second chance to make everything right. It’s time to move on, your Majesty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong hates being addressed so formally. Kun uses it like a beratement, to avoid using his actual name. There’s too much power in the way his name rolls off of the former prince’s tongue, and Kun doesn’t want to add fuel to the fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong grabs the nearest thing he can get his hands on—a paperweight he had left on his bed—and throws it in the direction of Kun’s feet. He stands abruptly to search for other objects to transfer his burning frustration into, not giving Kun the chance to interrupt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s losing control. Kun isn’t there to pull him back into orbit. He’s faded into the background like he was never there in the first place, and Taeyong loses his tether to his conscience, letting his muscles and rampant emotions take the reins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’s able to get his breathing back in control, no longer seeing everything in a red tint, he lets out a long, choked breath. A mess, everywhere: shattered ink glasses, dented trinkets, scattered papers. Taeyong steps right through it to head for the bathroom, leaving behind a trail of ink and blood on the pristine tile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tangible comfort Taeyong has in this world comes in the form of everything that’s left behind of Kun, which is not much. Things seem to disappear as the years trail on, and Kun’s human presence dissipates with them, bit by bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the closet, Taeyong shifts through stacks of perfectly-tailored suits and sparking accessories until he gets to the cream-colored frock coat. Through tear-stained eyes, he takes in the bright sash, the medallions, the roughness of the fabric as he brushes a thumb across the coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taeyong, my love,” Kun whispers. “It’s been too long. I can’t stay, for your sake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong presses the coat to his face and tries to remember exactly what Kun smelled like before he left the palace for the last time, only to return in a carved casket, sword presented to Taeyong by one of the generals as the last thing his living body had touched. It remains sheathed, never to be used again to preserve those last moments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The coat doesn’t smell like Kun. It smells like the lavender the maids use to clean and scent Taeyong’s clothes with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You promised,” Taeyong sobs, and he’s getting tears into the jacket, but it doesn’t matter. It’s lost its meaning. “You promised you would love me until the end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Kun wraps his arms around Taeyong, it’s a ghostly cold touch, made of memories and imagination, carved from air and space and Taeyong’s mind. Kun tucks Taeyong’s head in the crook of his neck. He’s slipping right through Taeyong’s fingers, and Taeyong desperately grasps at his shoulders to try and keep him in his arms forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong’s sobs become quieter, more of shaky breaths with too much weight bearable for a sane man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a hard truth to come to terms with, one that Taeyong still cannot accept as reality. It’s even harder when Kun has always been here, some part of him that never passed on. A dwindling memory that grows more elusive by the day; Taeyong’s hands are slippery and Kun is falling right through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You promised…” Taeyong feels his energy draining bit by bit. He squeezes his eyes shut. He has to hold up, or Kun will leave, and perhaps this time, he won’t return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Kun says so quietly that it’s hardly a rumble in his chest, reverberating off the intangibility of his being. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slips right out of Taeyong’s hands, like scooping water with a sieve, and Taeyong crumbles to the floor, arms wrapped tightly around his chest. He lets out a guttural cry, a cry that he hopes the heavens can hear and take pity on and give him his one and only back.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The kingdom celebrates. Across the towns, the citizens gather, parades all through the streets, decorations on every window and doorway, all becoming more and more embellished the closer the location is to the palace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The maids and stylists dress him up, paint his face, style him until he is perfect. Nothing less for the prince whose marriage will strengthen the kingdom tenfold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong stares at himself blankly in the mirror, at the silver chains draped across his shoulders, at the jewels adorning his ears and neck, at the vibrant sash bearing his family crest on his hip. Lips colored, hair slicked back, made up like a doll.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, it is the ceremony. He kneels at the altar, heavy velvet cape on his shoulders, head tilted down as the priest places the crown upon his head. It is heavy, much like he thought it would be, but it bears no comparison to the heaviness in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his left, Johnny looks to be his mirror image. His eyes are closed as the crown is set on his own head. He’s the image of the perfect monarch—strong, handsome, capable. Taeyong remembers his mother telling Duchess Taeyeon that they are a well-made match that will lead their newly-united kingdoms into prosperity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taeyong can’t help but envision Kun in Johnny’s place like it was supposed to be. The silver band on Taeyong’s hand is now accompanied by a thicker, diamond-encrusted gold ring, passed down by his now-husband’s grandmother. The two pieces sparkle together, and Taeyong notices how dull the silver is next to the gold, like coal against diamond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two stand and turn to face the guests. Johnny’s hand finds Taeyong’s, and though he doesn’t hold him with the tender love that Kun always had, it has a supporting comfort that Taeyong appreciates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The audience explodes in cheers. Right in the front row, Kun claps with a wide, heart-warming smile. Taeyong returns a smile to him, only him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the Taeyong walks down the aisle with Johnny beside him, he reaches for Kun, only to return empty, arm passing through air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A new chapter has begun. Taeyong shuts his eyes and allows a single tear, and no more.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>find me on<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/johnshuaa">twitter</a><br/><a href="https://curiouscat.me/johnshuaa">curious cat</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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